The Playboy Prince and the Nanny (Royal Duology 1)

She raised one eyebrow this time. “And you are as incorrigible as ever.” She took a second, smaller plate, and placed it in front of Rosalie. Cake. If he was right, it was the cook’s signature orange cake. His mouth watered.

“Thank you,” Rosalie said softly, and picked up her fork.

“May I join you?”

She looked up, her eyes wide with surprise. The flush on her cheeks deepened. “Oh. Of course.”

What else was she going to say, anyway? He was a prince. As much as he might act otherwise, he was now third in line to the throne. It irritated him that people were often nice to him out of obligation. He’d rather earn their regard on his own merits.

He put down his plate, pulled out a chair, and sat. Senora Ortiz had fixed him a basic chicken sandwich with a few olives and some cheese to the side. He spread his napkin on his lap, picked up the sandwich, and took a good-sized bite. Lord, Miss Walters looked like she was wound tighter than a spring, her back all ramrod-straight and not a hair out of place. There was something about her, though, that reassured him. She was probably nervous—who wouldn’t be? But she looked like she’d be kind. Sweet. Patient. He chewed thoughtfully and watched her take a dainty bite of cake. Max and Emilia would need those qualities in a nanny.

“Orange cake is Senora Ortiz’s specialty,” he said quietly, wiping his fingers on his napkin. “She’s trying to make you feel at home.”

Rosalie looked up at him and gave him a wobbly smile. “I’ll confess I’m a bit nervous. And anxious to meet the children. I’m . . . I’m very sorry for your loss.” She tucked a little strand of disobedient hair behind her ear. Her ears were pierced, he noticed, with little pearls in the lobes. Totally appropriate. Classy, and beautiful.

Her voice was sweet and clear, and one hundred percent genuine. If he was anywhere else, he might like to talk to her for a good long while. And then stop talking altogether. But that would be inappropriate here and she was far too important for him to trifle with.

“Thank you,” he responded. “It was such a shock. I’m afraid my brother is very grief-stricken. I’m glad you’re here, Miss Walters.” He looked down at his plate for a moment, then back up. “Max and Emilia need to smile again, and get back into a normal routine.”

“Of course. To lose their mother and their previous nanny . . . their whole world has been turned upside down.” She took a sip of tea and then placed the cup precisely on the saucer again. “Did you know that most children actually thrive on structure? It gives them a sense of security.” Then she laughed, a breathy little sound that was unexpectedly sexy coming from such a tidy package. “Oh, that made me sound like a stick in the mud. I promise I’m not. Consistency is good. Kindness is better, with a little fun thrown in for good measure.”

Her manners were impeccable. And she was highly trained and recommended. He’d seen that for himself. There was something more, though. She would be firm, he suspected, but also gentle and loving. And that smile . . . When she forgot to be nervous, it lit up her whole face.

“Your last employer was very happy with you,” he remarked.

She nodded. “Gregory was a sweet boy. But he got too old for a nanny and he’s off to school now. I was there for two years and honestly, quite sad to leave.”

“And you traveled with the family as well.”

“Yes.” She frowned. “You’re awfully well-versed in my qualifications.”

“That’s because I saw to the hiring of you,” he replied, popping an olive into his mouth. “Well, along with my sister, Luciana. Lucy. She helped before she went back to Canada.”

“I see.” She put down her fork, then looked up at him again. “Actually, no, I don’t. I wouldn’t have thought that it was your job to hire household staff.” Her brows pulled together in puzzlement.

He eyed her somberly. “Well, it would have been Cecilia’s,” he said quietly and shrugged. “I have connections in London, you see. I did some asking around, and your agency came highly recommended.”

“Oh. Of course that would have fallen to . . . Princess Cecilia.”

He held her gaze. “In the days after the accident, I felt very helpless, especially when it came to the children. This was one way I could ease my brother’s burden.”

“Hiring someone to care for two small children, sight unseen?” she asked.

It struck him as curious that she’d challenge him; after all she was the one benefitting from his decision. But he respected her for it, too. He needed someone who’d put Max and Emilia first. He leaned forward, still holding her gaze. “Miss Walters, rest assured you were thoroughly vetted before we offered you the position.”

A pink stain spread over the crests of her cheeks as she dropped her eyes. “Of course, Your Highness,” she replied.

He waited for her to look up and when she didn’t right away, he cleared his throat to prompt her to do so.

“Can you call me something else, please? If not Diego, then, I don

’t know, Mr. Navarro?”

Her clear blue gaze was utterly guileless. “But you are Your Highness. Or at the very least, Prince Diego. You are in no way, shape, or form, a mere mister.”

“Couldn’t you pretend?”

She suddenly focused on her teacup. “No, I could not.”